


For the Birds

by vanillafluffy



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Delirium, Dreams and Nightmares, Fever Dreams, Gen, Illnesses, Influenza, Sick Character, poor sick baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-29 01:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21146186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: The theme was "Without dialog", the prompt was, "trying to puzzle out dream imagery". Basically, getting the flu in the middle of a case sucks and Malcolm is trying to figure out a murder while sick in bed..





	For the Birds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts).

Contending with metal illness is rough, but being physically sick is the cherry on the shit sundae. Getting the flu in the middle of a case sucks. 

Malcolm’s night terrors are bad enough when he isn’t running a temp of 103--now he’s practically hallucinating--which makes it harder to focus on the evidence. The maitre d’ of a swanky Caribbean-inspired club called Kokomo was found by the cleaning crew when they came in the next morning, and he’d spent six increasingly miserable hours chasing down potential witnesses and suspects. Now he’s trying to remember what the witnesses told him, in between trying to hack up a lung and having very strange dreams about birds.

Why birds? it occurs to him to wonder. In the beginning, they’re common New York pigeons, feathered rats as most of the locals call them. They surrounding a playground, swooping down to peck at a cluster of young girls playing on the swings. A man tries to step in, to shoo away the birds--who turn on him, tearing him apart like miniature vultures.

Birds have never been a feature of his other nightmares--what is his subconscious mind trying to tell him? Why can’t it just text him?

When his eyes close again, he’s on a tropical beach, watching as a half-dozen or so pretty girls in bikinis are listening to reggae and laughing--until brightly-colored birds descend from the palm trees and attack them. Once again, a man steps in and is swiftly killed by the ravenous avians.

Malcolm’s eyes are gritty when he awakens. He’s wheezing like he’s just sprinted a mile. Pushing himself upright in bed, he realizes he didn’t secure himself. Well, he’s still in bed and the loft is still in one piece, so it could be worse. That’s still not good, though.

He hauls himself over to the refrigerator and pours himself a glass of ice water. So good…he presses the chilled glass across his forehead, rolls it against his fevered cheeks. Maybe not as fevered as he was last night…he thinks of the nightmares and shakes his head. Weird, the shit the subconscious churns up when you’re out of your mind….

Picking up his phone to check for messages from Gil--who probably wonders where he is, since it’s…good grief, four in the afternoon? And it’s Thursday? His last clear memory is of Tuesday--he discovers two things.

First, his subconscious took a request, for once. He’s texted himself a message that says: _The bartender in the Jimmy Buffet tee shirt did it. The maitre-d’ was trying to stop him harassing the bar girls and it got out of hand. Talk to Shireese again._ Malcolm blinks. The server had had bruises on her upper arms, like someone had grabbed her and shaken her. She and the other servers made no secret that the bartender annoyed them, but it hadn’t dawned on him in his condition that that night be a motive for murder. It probably hadn’t been premeditated--even so, that’s no excuse.

Multiple texts from Gil, wanting to know where he is, how he is, and an hour ago, a message saying, _We got the guy. It was that Parrothead bartender, Noah. He was roughing up one of the girls, the vic called him on it, one thing led to another. Shireese was there for the whole thing. She came clean as soon as we let her know she wasn’t in trouble. Don’t worry about anything, take as long as you need. Feel better._

Oh, good. He got the right answer, now he can go back to bed. Malcolm takes a quick tepid shower, drinks some more water and crawls back between the covers, restraints carefully in place. This time, the predatory birds are quiet.


End file.
